Done
by Shizuku Tsukishima749
Summary: For Edmund Pevensie, enough is enough. "Jadis can do no more to me than has already been done." Oneshot Brotherfic. Bookverse.


_A/N: _This is my first brotherfic, focusing purely on the relationship between Peter and Edmund. It's also my first fic concentrating on Bookverse!Narnia (unless you count the second chapter--Lucy's--of 'For You Only'); however, I wasn't sure about the eye or hair color of the boys (the pictures switch hair colors sometimes, at least for the girls...have you noticed?), so I _did _use the movie for those. Otherwise, this is only bookverse!

This takes place--or starts, I suppose--when the boys are sent from Aslan into the How and overhear the conspiring of Nikabrik and his Fell friends. And just so I don't get my head bitten off, I admit to paraphrasing the talk between Caspian and Nikabrik in the Stone Table room (and the actions taking place therein, also adding my own snippets here and there) and using two quotations directly from the PC book (Ed and Peter's first two sentences after the fight).

**Basis: **This thought struck me during Honors World History class months ago, actually: in PC, how did Edmund feel when Nikabrik was speaking of Jadis? It never even mentions how he feels, and you'd think it would, considering his history with Her... (Do you always capitalize 'her' or no? I'm not sure...) Thus, this story was born!

As always, if I've missed anything, I apologize, and _please _tell me what it is! I never fail to miss _something_... lol.

_Disclaimer_: I do not own the Chronicles of Narnia. C.S. Lewis does, as well as Walden Media and Fox Productions and anyone affiliated.

* * *

**Done **

"Who else, then, if not Aslan?" Caspian asked, unable to take the foreboding silence any longer. Nikabrik let loose a maniacal smirk, eyes glinting menacingly in the torchlight, and the boy-King barely fought back a shudder.

"Is it not obvious yet? Have you forgotten your history already, Master Doctor?" Cornelius said nothing, but merely narrowed his eyes, stood straighter, and looked as scary as an aged Half-Dwarf could. Nikabrik was undaunted. "Isn't there Someone more powerful than the Lion in the Old Tales; supposedly, Someone who held Narnia under Her cold hand for one hundred years?"

Outside the door, like the room itself, the corridor was dark. The light from the lit torch in Trumpkin's hand did little to appease the blackness, but it somehow did even less to hide Edmund's suddenly wide eyes and alarmingly pale features.

Peter watched him worriedly, blue eyes clouding over as memories of similar times during their reign crowded his mind's eye. It had killed him to see his brother like this then, but now…this was surely worse.

This _destroyed_ him.

It was only by his brother's reaction that Peter's worried mind managed to sift through the hazes and understand Who the bearded man meant.

It was—

"The White Witch!" Knowing their voices by now, as well as where their loyalties lay, it was not hard to tell who had shouted the Accursed's name. The same three scrambled to their feet—for they had previously been sitting on broken stone columns—in disbelief at the implications of such a Person, but the hopeless Dwarf was not amused in the slightest.

"Of course, _Her_," the Black Dwarf scowled, glaring at them as if he very much wished he were in the presence of more intelligent folk. "Now, do get a-hold of yourselves and sit, and don't dare behave like newborns at a mere title."

Edmund bristled. It was so much more than that, a moniker. Did _he _not know?

"Don't you see this is what we need to win? As long as She's on your side, Caspian, and strong enough to end this war…what else is there to argue? She is undoubtedly powerful: according to the Stories, did She not conquer Aslan himself, Her followers binding and torturing him before She plunged the Stone Knife into his very flesh? Did She not do Her deed on the Table across the way?"

He gestured to that very thing, the Stone Table, the sacred object for which the How had been named. All looked.

The consecrated Narnian article evoked mixed feelings.

Hope, happy tears, and joy for the Badger, Half-Dwarf, and Telmarine; loathing, mocking spite, and betrayal for the Hag, Were-Wolf, and Black Dwarf.

Though further words were said, they were lost to the company on the door's other side.

They had stopped listening. They were gone, within themselves and within each other.

The Dwarf had never believed in the Lion before, his practicality keeping him from having faith in something he couldn't see with his own eyes. Yet, just minutes ago, he _had _seen Him—and he had never been more ashamed.

He had denied what had always been right in front of him, a salvation well within his grasp that had merely been awaiting an invitation. During the meeting, he had been tossed from mouth, to air, to paws, and in retrospect, he realized he'd loved it. To be in the presence of so great a Being had been _beautiful _and _terrifying_ all at once, and there was nothing in all Narnia that could have opened his eyes further.

Edmund had not spoken a word since the twin understanding between him and his brother, his face losing still more color as he shrank back at the man's unsettlingly desperate words. Clenching his fists and keeping his head bowed low as he tried to control his breathing, the Just King of Narnia looked impossibly vulnerable.

The High King, in turn, could not remove his eyes from the splintering spectacle before him.

This was not the way it was supposed to be. The youngest male Pevensie was meant to be susceptible, yes—as was every man, royalty or commoner either—but not like this. This was the worst bout of haunted remembrance that Peter had seen in quite a time—since his brother's final nightmare in Narnia, in fact.

* * *

_Twenty-five years old, and King Edmund awoke, wide eyes shooting open and breathing delayed for a moment before it came in heavy gasps. Sweat coated his body, matted his hair, and soaked his clothes, but he dared not move until he could gather his bearings. _

_For an instant, what he could make of the world was blurry as his vision swam. He forced himself to breathe past the lump in his throat and the tears that threatened to defile his vision. But finally, as he knew it would, it became too much. The tears came then, vengeful and stinging; he mused bitterly that they, like him, were reproachful of his weakness. _

_For this nightmare had not been the typical, war-torn terror of a deceased sibling. No…those were horrific enough. _

_He had dreamed of _It_ again. _

_Fervently thanking Aslan that it had not been real, he reached up to wipe some of the perspiration from his pale face. Letting out a shaky breath, he lifted himself slowly to lean back against the headboard, closing his eyes and focusing on his breathing as pangs of nausea dueled with his tired will. _

_When he had calmed himself enough to the point of potentially falling asleep again, he kneaded his eyes with the heels of his hands prior to opening the brown orbs. It took a moment for the small, black-then-multicolored dots to disappear, but even before they did, he took to heart the room's unfamiliar atmosphere. It was less than a second later that he comprehended the reason: Peter and the girls were absent. _

_Then, by the Lion, there was the first! _

_Bursting through the chamber doors in nothing apart from his night clothes, the High King dashed to Edmund's side. Practically collapsing beside him on the bed, the man ignored the sweat that slicked his hand as he frantically brushed away the dark locks from his brother's forehead and placed a hand there. _

_Though Lucy was the healer of the family, Peter had been forced to learn a few things from time to time, and they proved useful in such circumstances. There was no fever, no irregularity of any kind to be detected as he checked Edmund's vitals, and he was slightly relieved. It was a ritual of theirs, really; the younger one was always a little unstable after his nightmares, and an initial bit of feigned ignorance from his brother never failed to fully bring him back. _

_Quite abruptly, the light of complete reality shone in the Just's eyes, and he bit his trembling lip as he took in his King. So scared were they; one for the other, and the other for his sanity. _

_After Edmund's night terrors—the ones about _It_, specifically—Peter could hardly keep himself from weeping. _

_His brother had always been so strong, and yet, the first night the nightmare came all those years ago had always stuck with Peter. He hadn't known what to do. Edmund had been so paranoid, so unwavering in his absolute fear, and it had killed Peter. Each time after that was just another repeat of the first, the sole differentiation being that the pain increased tenfold with every recurrence. _

_Peter, too, had nightmares, of course. They all did, in truth, though they mostly plagued the three who had been to war. For Susan, the core of her terrors was the worry of losing her siblings to an adversary's blade or arrow or club; for all her gentleness, what ultimately kept her awake at night was the thought of losing them at all. _

_Edmund's nightmares, however, were the most severe. His were of _Her_, _It_, and __what _he'd_ had to do with _It_. Such things didn't allow him rest for nights on end, though he did his best to keep his family from worrying. _

_Peter wished for nothing more than for the terrors to simply vanish, to leave his brother in peace, but Edmund himself had offered once that perhaps they were meant to remind him of what he had been, of what he had done. They were meant to _teach_ him…but hadn't living through those very horrors been enough? _More _than enough?_

_As the Just saw these things clashing within his brother's heart, tears spilled from his eyes again. His lip began to bleed as he bit it ever harder, and he finally released the sob that had been fighting to be set free. _

_The droplets cascaded in an onrush so powerful that his body was almost too near to convulsing for comfort. Seeing this, Peter immediately moved forward to take his brother in his arms, hugging him tightly, desperately, as one hand buried itself in his hair and the other protectively snaked around his shoulders. Edmund crashed against his strong chest instantly, and Peter curled forward to kiss his hair before settling his forehead atop the younger man's head. _

_A few guilty tears came from Peter. _

_This was the first time in two years that Edmund had had a nightmare, and while that was relieving, it also gave cause for worry. Something usually triggered them—a name, a face, an event—but besides last year's Battle at Anvard and Peter's attack on the Northern Giants, there had been nothing of such devastating caliber within the two year-span. The siblings were set to begin hunting the White Stag tomorrow, for goodness' sake! _

_There was _nothing wrong…

_A low rumble shook Peter's chest as Edmund leaned against it, hot air periodically warming his scalp as his elder brother breathed. Sensing the blond wished to speak, Edmund lifted his tear-stained face; he was unsurprised to see that Peter's expression was just as broken as his own. _

"_Ed…" _

_At Peter's choked voice, Edmund's eyes scrunched closed in immense pain. It had been such a long time since the family had had to deal with this, and the High King could not help abhorring the incapacitated petrification he never failed to see on his younger brother's face. He needn't wish to relieve his pain, to take the burden upon himself, to feel it; the Just's ever-annihilating visage was indubitably triumphant in that task. _

_Light, quick footfalls down the hall filled their ears, and the boys waited patiently in silence. A second later, Lucy and Susan swept through the doorway and into the room, any regard for grace all but cast aside. _

_The Gentle Queen settled on the far left of the bed, Lucy sitting on the rightmost side as she reached forward to take Edmund's clammy hand. Susan's fingers tenderly threading through his thick, black locks, there was utter silence for a long, tense moment. _

"_That Time is long past, Brother," Susan soothed, her voice soft with certainty despite the fact that she herself had once been assaulted by nightmares of the White Witch. "The dreams will quiet, just as before." _

"_Suppose they don't, Su? Suppose you're wrong?" The room was silent again; it would not be a truthful or courteous thing to count him wrong when he could very well be right. "They have been absent for years… If they come unbidden now, what is to keep them in the future?" he garbled quietly; such an unintelligible string was not unusual after a fright of this measure, so it was dishearteningly easy for the siblings to decode. _

_How they hated seeing him this way. His sins had been forgiven years ago, he knew that, just as he knew that his death and resurrection had been symbolic of his second chance at life. But, if that were true, why--? _

"_Edmund, what did Aslan say to you on the ridge that day?" __Lucy's earnest voice was soft and light in tone as she squeezed his hand tenderly, blue orbs lovingly soft; it was just what he needed to get his frozen heart beating again. _

_That day, he'd been rescued from death in the early-morning hours by a small brigade of Narnians; he'd met and spoken with Aslan for the first time; he'd been reunited with his siblings: he _loved _that day._

_Listening to the Lion's words replay in his head, peaceful tears flooded his eyes. Opening the dark-brown orbs, he smiled. __Leaning forward and spreading his arms, he beckoned silently. His family was only too ready to comply. _

_The embrace was tender and firm; it was guarding and threatening; it was beautiful._

_Come Giant or Witch, come war or ghost, come defeat or heartbreak, they loved. _

_

* * *

_Suddenly, Peter's thoughts were brought to a standstill by a screeching voice in the next room.

"Help for this forsaken country will come, mark my words," Nikabrik was hysterical now, more than likely jumping, waving his fists, and Trumpkin's face fell when he picked up on the slightest indication of tears catching in his friend's throat, "even if I must sell my soul to the Devil Herself!"

At this, though he felt a touch guilty for it afterward, Peter could not help but automatically look to Edmund. Indeed, the boy was white-skinned with eyes clenched closed, biting down on his lower lip so hard that it had begun to bleed steadily.

Locking his jaw determinedly, Peter let the tears come to his eyes and his heartache show; in this time of trial, he could not allow his brother the pain of bearing this alone. He hadn't in the Golden Age, and he certainly refused to do so while a greedy madman was out to destroy the last remnants of their beloved country.

He loved Edmund too much for that. There was never any question of it.

In such a pressing time as this, then, he would rely on both the Lion and all the things he had learned as King. He gazed at his brother for a long time, his hand unconsciously traveling to his sword hilt and gripping it so hard that his knuckles turned white.

A fool could see he was debating something akin to life and death.

Edmund was vulnerable, and Peter wanted nothing more than the chance to leave him behind—to ensure his mental and emotional protection, at least—but he knew his brother would never agree. He was much too good for that--some would say foolishly so.

But, as the Just King and his fellow Knight, Peter felt he would be doing Edmund a massive disservice—one of the highest, seeing as he was Narnia's High King—if he did not give his beloved brother the option he most detested.

"If we go in there—if you see Her…will you be all right?"

He was not ashamed of the way his voice shook, of the way he was sure not an ounce of blood was left in his face; he was undeterred by the air-restricting lump in his throat, by the blinding tears in his eyes.

The only thing that mattered to him was his brother.

The eldest Pevensie's head bent as his grip on his sword hilt tightened to a wagered-impossible extent; he was so afraid of what he might see in Edmund's face, in his eyes, that he _couldn't _look at him.

A thick line of warmth curled around the crook of his chin without warning, and his head was forced into the upright position. His blue eyes were fixed on Edmund's brown ones.

Upon being given a sad, plagued, always-recovering smile, Peter could only watch as Edmund's hand moved of its own accord to the left side of his stomach.

Peter's eyes widened enormously, his face lacking even more color than before; he began to shake and was compelled to look away as he felt increasingly nauseous. Honestly, it would be a right wonder for both boys if he didn't faint or lose his meager breakfast within the next second.

He knew that spot well. All the siblings did.

What lay under those fingers—those fingers which had been pale, trembling, and smeared with blood the last time they'd openly touched _that place_…

Beneath them brewed a round, slightly jagged scar. While it had once been dark, it had healed well since its dealing and was much fainter. Still, it was also the sole one that had failed to disappear upon the Four's year-past deliverance from Narnia. Along with the rest of the remnants of the wounds he'd received during his reign, it had regenerated to its true degree after Edmund's return to the Lion's Land.

"She can do no more to me than has already been done."

The words were the only thing to penetrate Peter's wall, and yet, there was such a ringing in his ears and heart afterward that he very much wished he hadn't heard them at all. Even through all this—through the tears that streaked down his face, through the grand quantities of bile he swallowed and the deep breaths he took to try vainly to steel his violently churning stomach, through the incredible sense of pride he felt for his brother's daft nobility of character—

Edmund was _right_!

Dear _Aslan_...She had preyed upon him, enchanted him, imprisoned him, twice nearly had him, _killed _him! Jadis had _murdered _him, but it didn't seem to matter; Edmund was immovably steadfast in his resolve to run the risk She presented if it meant keeping his brother safe!

Peter couldn't say anything for a while, not a word. He could only look at his brother; his younger brother by three years, eleven to his fourteen, black hair to his blond, just patience to his magnificent fire.

This was his _brother_...

He struggled unsuccessfully to wipe his tears away with the back of his sword-hand, finally allowing himself to let go of the weapon's hilt. Edmund grinned at him feebly, partially relieved, but Peter couldn't bring himself to return the gesture—it seemed far too insignificant. Instead, he swept forward and took the boy in his arms, crushing him to his chest as Edmund wrapped his arms tightly around him.

For the first time, tears escaped the Just King, and Peter held him tighter. With the Lion's grace at his back, nothing would stop him from protecting his brother from this, from _Her_. He swore it.

Suddenly, a strangled shout and strange rolling noises came from the room behind the door. Peter and Edmund sprang apart and, reading what lay in the other's eyes, rushed into the room with Trumpkin behind.

The lamp without oil and candle snuffed out, the room was black as pitch, but neither the boys nor Trumpkin paid much attention as they jumped into the fray. A few shrill shrieks, claw swipes, inhuman yowls, and sword clashes later, it was over.

For but a moment, distrusting the suspended silence, no one believed it to be finished so soon.

Then, "Are you all right, Ed?"

Peter's voice. That blessed, golden voice... The younger King of Narnia, panting slightly from the exertion of the fight, found his breath almost immediately.

"I—I think so." Carefully searching for his brother in the dark, he felt a hand; larger than his and familiar in a way only a sibling could recognize, it was also wet with sweat and blood, and he squeezed it, asking, "And you, Brother? I find you unscathed?"

Slipping into his Old Tongue was easy in this blackness, almost expected, and it was because of the dark that Edmund remembered the importance of its opposite. In his hand, he held a tiny match, and everyone blinked as the sudden, orange glow flickered to life and dully lit the chamber. Peter took the small fire-producer from him and lit a candle, but all the while, Edmund felt the heat of his eyes.

Standing a few feet away from the boys was a young man of blond head and of powerfully wondrous demeanor. He was staring at the two Kings with marvel in his eyes, mouth agape before he remembered himself and shut it, though the awe never left. He could only be Prince Caspian.

Cheeks flushed and smiling brightly, Peter glanced at his brother, squeezing the boy's hand as his breath deepened and tears welled in his eyes. As Edmund laid his free hand on Peter's and shook his head imperceptibly, the elder boy nodded his understanding.

Moving to stand at last, Peter pulled his brother up beside him; a quick glance to his right was enough to reassure him that Edmund had not been injured during the fight. Thank Aslan.

Turning his attention to Caspian, it was noted that he had become even more immersed in his wonderment, and Peter couldn't help but grin. This boy—man—would make an amazing King.

"Prince Caspian, I presume?" he addressed, half for the sake of formality and half in jest; by now, each side knew the other without doubt. He bowed in greeting, sweeping elegantly despite the war attire and weapons he sported: the thirteen-year-old deserved it already, Peter could tell.

"Y—yes, your Majesty. I am he. Greetings to you both." Through the small tremor in his voice, which the boys graciously pardoned out of empathy—they knew well the nerves that came with being thrust into Kinghood—he returned Peter's bow, slightly disheveled blond hair bobbing as he went.

Ending the chain of bows was Edmund, who smiled gaily. There was something in the boy's face, in his eyes, that reminded him so of their youngest sister, Lucy. He would, indeed, make a great King of Narnia.

Yet, before the brothers' same theory could be all-proven, something had to be done about the usurper King. Peter told the man's nephew as much, and he agreed, along with the rest of the room's living occupants.

Soon after, they got to writing the challenge of single combat, and following that, Caspian was called off to speak with his Centaur General about the Narnians eligible to accompany Edmund to the Telmarine camp—the two Kings marveled at how he reminded them of Oreius—and Trufflehunter persuaded Trumpkin to privately relay to him the wonders the Dwarf had seen while in the company of the Kings and Queens of Old.

Thus—or perhaps 'appropriately' was the better term—Peter and Edmund were left alone. The Stone Table to their right offered a poignant reminder of the Great Lion, their King and the One they served above any and all else. They drew strength from Him, from the very essence of Him, though they were already relying heavily on one another.

Peter, for his part, could not keep his eyes off his brother. Since the battle had ended hours earlier, he'd waited for this. This was his chance to truly see if Edmund was all right, if he would need to protect his brother from any nightly hauntings. He only wished for his brother to feel safe, to feel loved, to know that he _loved_ him.

Scanning Edmund's exterior for the second time that day, he made sure his quick analysis from before hadn't overlooked anything vital. Exhaling in liberation as he saw he had not been mistaken, he adjusted his focus, this time concentrating on Edmund's mental well-being.

Peter wasn't sure, but he could not imagine that there would not be negative ends to the shattering of such excruciating expectations.

The tears filled his eyes once more, gathering quickly and descending hotly. For all the blurred vision, he could not see his brother clearly.

Edmund watched him closely; his elder brother by three years, fourteen to his eleven, blond hair to his black, magnificent fire to his just patience. Glittering tears slipping past his tightly closed eyes and dripping from his nose and chin, Peter finally broke.

"Ed—"

Peter fell into him, and there was reminiscence of another battle's close in the way he gripped Edmund around the shoulders and all but forced the breath from him in his immense need for his brother.

Edmund just held him, his own unfinished tears returning as he buried his head into his brother's chest, ignoring the sting of the uncomfortable mail against his face.

Very slowly and after several minutes, Peter pulled away, holding Edmund tenderly at less than arm's length. The High King gazed at him anxiously, tears still fleeing from his eyes and rushing down his countenance, blue eyes shining with ever more of the liquid diamonds.

"Are you all right? Should I—?" His voice constricted from the heavy bombardment of tears. "Please, Ed—!" he tried; oh, he did, but he couldn't bear to think of it. He waited in agony for an answer, deathly afraid of it though he was.

So, none could match or surpass his bewilderment when his brother's voice was strong. "I didn't see her; I didn't hear her; I didn't feel her. She was not here to see me, to hear me, to feel me, to know me. She is _gone_, Peter," he emphasized forcefully, the faith in the Lion floating valiantly above the words, "as she has been for many years." The last part was quiet, but Peter, no less speechless in the wake of his brother's strength, could only stare. Yet, he did not have long to remain doing so. "She can do no more…" The boy's tone made the request obvious, and Peter laughed wetly.

"...To me," he allowed, smirking at the irony of it, "than has already been done."

Edmund relaxed visibly, shoulders releasing their tension and a loving smile painting his lips. Bringing his brother into another embrace, a gentler one this time, he whispered,

"You _see_, Peter."

A warm breath caressed Edmund's neck suddenly, and his grip on Peter's chest tightened. In response, Peter squeezed his shoulders firmly, nuzzling his face into the Just King's hair.

"I see, Brother. I see."

* * *

He had been saved;

He had repented;

He had been pardoned;

He had been killed;

He had been given life;

He had been crowned King Edmund of Narnia;

He had been the Just, true to his name.

—

As then, he was now.

He was _Edmund_.

And he had always been stronger.

* * *

_A/N: _This will probably be my last story for a while (until the end of the year, when summer starts...or spring break, but still), considering I have the Science Fair and a million projects crushing me at the moment! (Smite me now, eh?) Thanks so much for your support! I love you all so much!

_A/N: _I forgot to add this last night (so tired! Forgive me!): the 'It' in the flashback is Ed's experience with Jadis in LWW, namely the betrayal of his siblings and the death of Aslan.


End file.
